Last night, I begged God to kill me.
I had had enough. My dietary struggles-- constant electrolyte imbalances, the blood sugar spikes and crashes, the myriad intolerances, the allergies, the stiff and inflamed joints, the bowel troubles, the cramps and bloating and pain and reflux, and above all the vomiting-- had become so unbearably
inevitable that I just… gave up. "Take me home," I sobbed to the Jesus picture taped up in the hallway, hands pressed desperately against His paper scars. "I'm done. I can't live like this anymore. I don't know how to live. Please, just take me home to be with You. I don't want to live anymore." So on and so forth. I was finished. I saw no future, I had no hope, I wanted to be done at 31 like Saint Rose of Lima. Everything but death was a dead end to me, last night.
I remember asking God that if it were possible, to somehow help me survive until at least Christmas, so I could celebrate that beloved holiday and then die on the Feast of the Holy Innocents, three days later. That would be fine. I'd die in the church, or in the snow, and I'd be happy; I'd have sung at midnight mass and I'd have seen the tree and heard the carols and been blessed with all the gorgeous little gems of winter. As long as I had received the Sacraments, then, I could die happy. I was totally resigned to that.
I woke up this morning, and without even realizing it, something had changed in me.
I split my meal times up dramatically. I had 4 tbsp of hempseeds at 7:15, and packed the second 4 to eat in two hours. I cut an avocado in half and did the same-- packed it up, to eat at two more intervals after. I got into my red & white outfit and headed off to my gastroenterology appointment.
It was the first time I've been to such an appointment
without pain. That struck me as I walked out of the exam, not having had any new meds prescribed for the first time in ages either. Despite the digestive hell of the past month, I wasn't in any pain at the moment, at all. I felt
okay. And that was notable.
Furthermore, the doc said I actually
am not lactose intolerant. I actually
have the enzymes needed to digest it, according to lab results; the problem is IBS intolerance. It's the same thing with blood sugar-- I am not chronically hypoglycemic, nor am I diabetic. I'm possibly not allergic to shellfish, my liver cysts are benign, and my gallbladder looks absolutely fine as well. So… thank you, God.
I walked out of the appointment at 9, and as I stood in line I noticed that everyone else was fidgeting and/or complaining, checking their watches, etc. It surprised me. Are people commonly that bothered by having to wait? I wanted to exclaim, "if we didn't have to wait for things, patience wouldn't be a virtue" but the words didn't sound right and I didn't want to make anyone there even grouchier when it came to patience. I just… wanted to take a stand against that subtle opposing vice. "We're right where God wants us to be, right now," I thought. "There's no need to hurry. We'll get to the next place on God's timing too." The clock does not revolve around us; billions of other human beings have their divine schedules mapped out through timespace like ethereal threads and we must accept our place in that cosmic tapestry, weaving in and out of each other's paths, content in that dance and not demanding that anyone make way for our rebellious beeline to nowhere. "Look at it this way-- when we have to wait in line, we get to practice patience. Virtues need to be tested in order to grow. You can't be patient unless you've had the opportunity to be
im patient." Et cetera. L'esprit de escalier. I wished the man ahead of me a good day and headed off to my car, my conscience a see-saw, knowing I should have defended the Christian behavioral choice but also knowing that my words had been poorly unplanned and my anxiety barred the Holy Spirit from speaking up instead. I resolved to be more aware, more open to inspiration, in the future-- to not close up in self-conscious silence, effectively a sin of omission. But I myself stood still, and smiled, and offered a kind hello and gentle manners, hoping to attest to patience nevertheless, even if I hadn't taken the chance to preach. Perhaps actions still speak louder than words in such situations.
So I had a clean bill of health this morning, with no upcoming appointments needed, the first time for that too. I still had bloodwork at 11:30 to check my metabolic panel, but there was plenty of time to spare between now and then.
I cannot quite remember what I did next. I know I stopped at the bank, and then I ran home briefly to make sure grandma took her ibuprofen and also to brush my teeth after eating my second serving of hemp seeds. However I also grabbed my three S.O.S. electrolyte boxes from the closet, in order to return them-- I actually brought one box with me in my car, and put two packets into my Power Water,
but I forgot that-- possibly because of the maltodextrin--
my stomach really does not like it. It causes
immediate pain and nausea and burping, and that is not worth the trouble, especially when I get better nutrition for a better deal with Ultima now. So I headed back off to Wal-Mart.
Here I have to interject again. I had four boxes, minus two packets. I knew I was never going to use that fourth box. But I couldn't return it missing. So, I found an Ensure electrolyte stick in my purse and stuck it in there instead. Dishonest? I hope not. My conscience is still prickling me about it. I returned that edited box because 1) someone else can still use the 8 packets plus the odd one out, 2) I did my best to restore the item with what I had, not intending to cheat the buyer, and 3) that return would be at extra
six dollars with which I could buy house groceries. And
that is where my conscience pokes me hard. "You're still thinking too much about the
money, " it warns. "You're not thinking about the objective, context-free morality of your actions. You're focusing on whether or not there's a
profit to them, the ends justifying the not-so-pretty means. That's
mammon. You
have to stop thinking that way."
So I was haunted. Where to go when you're feeling low in the soul?
CHURCH.
I went straight to Saint John's.
God bless them, their doors are finally open again. The
second I walked in, the heavenly scent of incense hit me like a
truck and I nearly sobbed,
"I'm home."
I spent… a half hour? Just…
being there. I
love that church so much. It feels like my soul. It's so
big and quiet and full of raw ambient sunlight and shadow and cold white marble and warm humble wood, full of glass and candles and flowers and
gold. It's the only church I've been to-- besides the Basilica in D.C. which I WILL live at one day if at all possible-- that feels
so close to my heart. I am profoundly blessed that it is so close to my house as well.
When I first walked in, though, I had to use their restroom, which was not a problem-- it's this oddly sweet little old room with tile and a stained glass window of Saint Joseph, and I always feel safe in tiny interim spaces like that. While there, though, in a sudden fit of deep affection I actually clambered up on top of the sink and toilet tank with a wet paper towel to clean the years of dust off his hands, feet, face, and halo. So now when you look up at him, he
glows. It's the least I can do for my heavenly foster dad, after all. I love him very much.
I went into the main church after that-- after a joyful gasp at realizing the doors to the central inside were also open-- and immediately got caught up in the
Pieta statue by the door.
Mary is weeping, her right hand tangled in Christ's hair, fingers pressed to his cheek, her left hand holding his lifeless body to hers. Her eyes are purple-blue and she is
so sad, with a shocking
keenness to it that speaks of acute heartbreak, not just deep blue mourning; there is a white-hot sword plunged through her heart and it bleeds out through her tears.
Christ Himself is
bleeding, the statue actually depicting
embossed blood drops from His wounds, which I touched and
shook. His hand is limp, the fingers beginning to curl in, the nail wound bruising blue around the edges, and I grabbed that hand in both of my own and just
held it. I thought, "I've never held someone's hand like this before." It was a shockingly intimate gesture on my part, new and profound. I stood there for a while, like that. Christ's eyes are half closed, unfocused, poured-out exhausted from the unbearable pain that has now stopped and left Him drained entirely. His mouth is slightly open, His
teeth even visible in the statue, another tiny display of total vulnerability that struck me to the core. This is
God, lying here in His sobbing mother's arms. This is
God, His skin torn and ragged and pale, His bones all worn out, His face so beaten and sad and
tired. That statue is a thousand sermons to itself. I can still see it clear as day in my mind.
I forget how and when I moved on but I did. I looked up to see another statue of Mary, her eyes raised to heaven, a statue I am fond of because it
always seems to catch the beams of sunlight streaming in from outside. I talked/prayed to her for a bit, and at one point I was asking for the grace to suffer more for God, and it got
sunny to the point where everything looked golden. I took this as a "sign from God" that this was the "right track" for prayer, and I continued, somewhat foolhardily perhaps, and added that I "wanted to bleed for Him." At that the light got cloudy again. Hesitating with worry, I pondered this for a moment, and sensed that it had been spoken out of a sort of pride or self-centeredness-- out of my personal "aesthetic obsession" with blood and suffering in a different sense than the selflessly sacrificial. So I then re-centered my heart and rephrased my request-- "I want to let Christ bleed
through me." And the sun
came back . …So I will definitely be reflecting on that whole exchange for a while.
I prayed before the altar for a bit. I cannot reiterate my exact words, nor would it be proper to. But I can feel and smell and hear and see and taste everything about it in my heart even now. I'm more real in church than I am anywhere else.
I do remember my closing prayer. Still remembering the clouds earlier, I emptied that worry before God, and said-- "Whatever I am, You made me. Whatever I can do, You gave me the ability to do. I am your Dream-walker. I am your Heart-singer. You have given me my purpose, for Your glory. You have given me the ones I love, to bring me closer to You. And if I am to love You more truly, and if I, too, am to me your angel, a messenger of Your love to others-- then please, I beg of You-- give me the grace to live every moment of my life for Your sake, for Your glory, and for Your love. In all my life, may Your will be done." That was the gist of it. I felt shaky afterwards, always feeling "stupid" for "bringing headspace into this," but there was no
guilt, only self-conscious "shame" for "being unique." But
God made me an "us" and we ALL know that it is for His glory so praying about it only makes perfect sense. I do have to dedicate an entire entry to that train of thought soon, to be honest-- not now, as it's late and I have to be up early again-- but that's a note, to remember.
I then did a little bit of "exploring" around the main area of the church; I found the stairs up to the choir loft, a back entrance to the sacristy, stairs down to what I assume is a storage room, and little bits of stained glass in all those places. I passed the statue of Saint Joseph with his lilies and I felt
such a wave of filial affection, I nearly teared up. He
feels like a dad to me now, possibly because of the consecration I did in the hospital back in the spring. I prayed that he help me continue to consecrate myself to his wife. I prayed to Saint Ann at her statue, and to the child Mary, asking for them to help me love my mother the way Mary loved hers, and for Anne to bless my own grandmother the way Christ blessed her. I walked down the aisle and just took in the light and the silence and the color and the
holiness. In a second fit of love I dunked both my hands entirely into the holy water and asked God to
bless all that I did with them, then I made a very wet sign of the cross and asked God furthermore to bless "everyone in here"-- the entire System, all of us, for His sake.
I blessed my mouth too, asking for blessings on my dietary struggle, for cleanness and edification of speech, and… for purity of love, too, with the one who tastes like river water, who is now also effectively holy water himself on a spiritual level (and literally so if I can get a priest to do the job). But I clearly remember saying "he is a messenger from you, God, and I must be the same to him in return" and feeling the
weight of that, as well as the
joy and the
love … all marriages are meant, first and foremost,
for the glory of God, and in that inevitable liquid intersection between blessing and beloved I prayed for
us with as much sincerity as I could muster.
I stopped at the tiny underground chapel before I left, with spirit-push #3 dropping a tenner into the donation box to light three of those gorgeous red candles I love so much. I asked Saint Therese to send me a rose "with a message of love from God," told the Infant Jesus that I was sorry for "taking back that ring" when I moved to Charlotte and begging forgiveness for that scandalous act, asking again for blessings on my "marriage" but also imploring that "before I am bound to anyone else, I must be bound to You." I prayed to Mary, my mom, looking so young in her heavenly blues, asking her to guide and protect me, her daughter, to also be a handmaiden of the Lord, to live as a holy woman in imitation of her, to learn to love my earthly mother with more sincerity, and to be a "spiritual mother" myself in helping Christ be "reborn" in my own flesh, to bring Him more fully into the world anew, to bring about His Kingdom in my own life.
I went to the statue of Jesus and I just… felt His scars. It blew my mind. It made my heart
shiver with holy fear.
I wanted to check produce prices at Schiffs, to see if I could go there instead of ShopRite from now on, but as I headed that way I realized, "wait a second. The little local farmer's market is open today, isn't it?"
So I went back to Schiffs, now looking for lettuce prices, but I had no luck on anything-- they didn't even have organic produce. So I just grabbed a bunch of bananas to get cash back and headed back to the market, where I got two green leaf lettuces, two zucchini, and one purple bell pepper. Yes, purple! Then I went to the library next door but they were inexplicably closed for a week
starting today , so I wished the other girl there (who apparently just found that out too) a good day and headed back down the road for bloodwork.
I was in and out of the office so fast I swear I didn't even get to turn on my phone, haha. Which was nice! So I immediately headed across the river to the other local library, still hoping to grab a mythology book for research if it was God's will for there
to be one there… and there wasn't. Long story short, that other library is
super tiny and their selection of nonfiction is too; I ended up just checking out the graphic novel shelf and was deeply disappointed to see it 85% Marvel and 10% blatant paganism. The other 5% was
Land of Oz adaptations, which I spent 15 minutes flipping through and being equally disappointed that it struck me now as just… fluff. Perhaps "fun" to read, on some level, but a waste of time for me. My maturing "memento mori" mindset has really started to scour the edges off my mind and I no longer have any time for time-killers, thank God since I'm still a Celebi deep down anyway.
I ate my last bit of avocado as I drove by the river (accidentally on a one-way residential street… sorry about that) and headed to Redner's and Goodwill to finish up my errands.
As I drove the back road to get there, though, my heart
broke to realize that
Our Lady of Mount Carmel JUST finished their 11:30 mass. I had FORGOTTEN they had one-- how wonderful it would have been to have gone
there instead of the darned library! It made me sick at heart. I need to type up a mass schedule and keep it in my car, so I ALWAYS know where I can go to be with Our Lord.
Goodwill had no new stuff, and I prayed that God find me a white long-sleeve sheer top to wear with my skirts, but over a colored tank, for modesty but also avoiding heat exhaustion. However there were no crisp white anythings, just two or three offwhite tops that were either skin-tight or overly huge. I started to check black but decided I didn't want to wear that color in summer, so I gave up and left, thanking God for His guidance nevertheless.
Redner's had everything I needed grocery-wise which was lovely. I got pudding & Lactaid for grandma, bok choy & oatmilk & vitamin waters for me, ice cream for the boys, and I think that's it? It was a small order, but a needed one.
I got home around 1:30, I think? I planned to start my salad immediately but of course there were SO MANY CHORES to do. So I took out the crudbuckets, took out and burned the garbages, wiped up the counters, did TWO SINKS full of dishes, washed and dried a load of laundry (but put them aside to hang for later)… it’s a bit of a blur! But inbetween I did chop up my carrots and zucchini and pepper so I was eating
something as I worked-- I was already getting muscle spasms and I didn't know if that was hypoglycemia or heat exhaustion from the oven-hot car or both. I downed a small Gatorade with 2 Ultima scoops in it almost immediately, haha.
Grandma had a sudden craving for a hot dog with sauerkraut around 2:30 (I remember because FATHER MITCH was on), and I told her "give me fifteen minutes" and I literally zoomed straight up to Walmart in shorts. I grabbed potato buns, turkey dogs, ketchup, mustard, an onion, cheese slices, chili, and sauerkraut, and within 20 minutes I was back in the kitchen with the goods-- only to find my brother Chris struggling to put a tray of pulled pork in the oven and anxious because it wouldn't be done and ready in time for him to eat before work. So, uh, "do you want a hot dog?" And thus I began making
three hot dogs, haha. I fried up the sauerkraut with onion & butter & honey as I do, heated up the dogs and chili, and got some pickles out too. I made the food and served both Chris and grandma and they
both said they were delicious, so that made me super happy. I love taking care of people, but I never want to give anyone bad food! So when they enjoy a meal
that I make, I not only feel trusted and useful, but I know they are getting not only nourishment and enjoyment but
love from that little plate and it just warms my heart. I think it's a woman's mothering instinct, haha. It's a good thing.
Oh yeah! I got two extra things at Walmart that I forgot about because I paid for them separate-- a bag of quinoa/pea protein powder, and a little tin of smoked rainbow trout, also for protein. I figured, hey, I need more protein in my diet, why not start now, since the day has been literally FLAWLESS so far as diet is concerned? And so I did! I put three scoops in with the salad and put the fish aside for Friday, mixed it all with curry powder and salt and pepper and… did more dishes. XD I'm sorry dude. I don't mind though, it kept me nicely busy.
But. At one point I had to get a bedpad for grandma from the clothesline, and decided to burn the remaining two garbage bags to clean up the porch, and… that's why I'm typing tonight.
For some reason, when I went back out there, heartspace opened up.
I think it was the fire, simple as that. I think it was just handling matches and dancing around the smoke and the sunlight and looking up at the sparkling green trees all around, and it just reached in deep and before I knew it I was talking to my friends, to my beloved.
Chaos Zero wanted a blackberry. Just one, off the hill, if I found one. So I went looking, and… there was
exactly one, but on the very top of the path, a great deal of brush between it and me. Chaos, as excited as the Chao he is at heart, nudged me to go get it. I gently told him that I would, but I was wearing sandals and shorts and didn't want to get ticks. He understood this, and decided I shouldn't put my legs at such a bug risk, but I felt how
enthused he had been about me getting him this single little berry from the hill and I just couldn't let him down. So I headed back onto the porch, and then without a word, I put my boots on.
"Do not underestimate my love," I said, and joyfully stomped on back over to the hill. (When I reached it, I got a split-second mental image of Chaos just
looking at me with the sappiest smile on his face, then turning to Genesis and just saying, "That's my wife." Genesis nodded knowingly, replying "You got a good wife." help my heart is MELTING)
Going straight up, I grabbed the berry-- only to find that it was not only the ONLY berry around, but the LAST berry in general; all the others were withered and gray and dead. Unfortunately this berry also paid the price of approaching autumn, as it was only three cells barely clinging together. I showed Chaos, and he decided we shouldn't eat it-- we tossed it deeper into the woods instead, with the hope it would re-seed somehow and bring more life out of that fruit's final push against death. CZ was quite satisfied at this, as was I, but I still felt sad that the berry was neither eaten nor shared, as that's special too. So I asked Chaos if he would like some blueberries instead. His eyes lit up at that as he agreed, so I went and picked exactly ten of them, offering him two at a time, the last two which he practically bit out of my hand, haha. (That's a very Genesis thing too.) But it was so sweet and simple, the two of us just meandering around the edge of the woods picking blueberries as the golden hour settled in and the birds sang in the warm summer trees.
Walking past the fire on the way back towards the house, I was struck by how the smoke was catching the sunlight through the trees, giving them shimmering form, like hazy ribbons streaming down from heaven. The beauty plucked at my heartstrings on its own, but even as I stood and looked, Chaos put one oceanic hand on my incandescent shoulder and said,
"that's you, too, you know. You make the light visible." I nearly cried, at that.
We went over to the pear tree then, and Laurie showed up, asking me what I was up to. I said I was picking pears, or at least, I would if there were some low enough to nab without a ladder today. Laurie and Genesis bantered a bit about this as they always do, and I managed to find one pear that I could get if I pulled one branch down a bit, so I did. I ate half of it as I wandered back around the yard, then decided that instead of eating the whole thing-- and possibly upsetting my stomach-- I'd plant the rest of it. So, between the two cherry trees, I stooped down and dug a little hole in the dirt with my nails (accidentally unearthing an earthworm, hello buddy) into which I placed the pear-bottom with its seeds, then covered it back up. The dirt had that heavy petrichor scent from the rain and it was all over my hands and I felt very real and alive.
I continued to wander around the back of the garden, looking at how it had overgrown (and at the swallowtails on the pink phlox), telling Laurie that I "still wanted to build a chapel beneath the pear tree," then decided to look for one more pear because why not. After a bit of searching we found one more tiny one (I think Genesis actually saw it), which I again ate half of before pitching the rest up into Diamew, to a fate only God knows-- to be eaten or seeded or both. Then, realizing I really should eat my actual dinner, I headed back into the house.
… I still didn't eat dinner, haha. I put in another load of laundry and did more dishes and took care of grandma and
then I got to finish my salad. However my body was so psyched that I had EATEN for the first time in literal
months (outside the hospital), that it actually got hungry and so I decided to nibble on bok choy and carrots and an
entire cucumber until it decided it was full. Also it was craving mustard?? So we had mustard on romaine lettuce, haha. It worked! Nevertheless I was talking to my guardian angel the whole time to make sure I had permission to eat those foods, and to make sure I didn't go overboard, and everything worked out perfectly.
So then I brushed my teeth, washed up and got dressed, and then put on Spotify to go hang up all that laundry on the porch.
When that was done, I did more dishes, wiped up the floor, made more hot dogs for Blase to eat for dinner (as mom never showed up to feed him), cleaned up some of the refrigerator for space, planned my schedule for tomorrow, and now I'm here. Typing! And very tired! I wanted to go on the bike for an hour but honestly, I was on my feet for a great deal of the day and I don't feel like sweating out all my potassium before bed again, so… I'll just bike for 15 minutes, haha. Can't break the habit, that's important.
But yeah. I prayed to die, and… well, God answers prayers.
Something died last night, but it wasn't my soul, and in the morning I found hope resurrected.
So thanks be to God. Thank you Jesus, thank you Mary my mother, thank you
Saint Dismas who I always ask to pray for me, thank you Saint Rose of Lima who I
know had something to do with this, thank you guardian angel who always strives to keep me on the straight and narrow and never gives up on me. Thank you God, for it all.
Yes I'm
exhausted but I'm
happy. I'm loved and I CAN love and I have HOPE and I just want to cry from the joy of it all, yes I know suffering will return in due time because that is blessed too but today showed me that I don't have to suffer
from sinfully poor choices anymore. I can handle pain if it's for love, God knows, God graces. And so when it is time for that, I pray I can face it with a heart still full of this same faithful joy, full of this same loving hope.
Until then… I'm going to go bike, then collapse into bed and wrap my aching arms around Chaos Zero and sleep. It's the little blessings that mean the most, really. Tiny blessed things. Blueberries and grandma snoring and impromptu hot dogs and smiles exchanged with strangers at the farmer's market. Earthworms and lemon balm in the garden and folding my brother's socks and having people to dry dishes for. I'm just… I'm glad I'm alive, for as long as God wants me to be, now that I see what life
is. Christ incarnated into this same simple sacred life. I must live according to that truth as long as I am incarnate, too… after all, if I do, I will only ever have good days, no matter what.
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